


To Noise Making

by bluegrass



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, BAMF Jaskier | Dandelion, Beauxbatons Student Jaskier, Ciri is a first year gryffindor! the cutie, Durmstrang Student Geralt, Fluff and Angst, Half-Veela Jaskier, Kaer Morhen turns Squibs to Witchers, M/M, Mutual Pining, Parental Yennefer, Reliable hogwarts professor Triss Merigold, Triwizard Tournament, Voldemort has 2 fears: HP and Vesemir
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-05-26
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:13:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23280760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluegrass/pseuds/bluegrass
Summary: Jaskier is a Half-Veela on a searching quest for destiny and heartbreak. He finds it in Durmstrang's Witcher Champion.Geralt would really, really, like to complete the Triwizard Tournament in peace. Blessed silence, if that is not too much to ask.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 16
Kudos: 95





	1. I.

Remember when you'd sing just for the fuck of it?

Any joy it would bring;

Honey, the look of it was as sweet as the sound,

Your head tilt back, your funny mouth to the clouds.

* * *

Jaskier was his mother’s son from head to toe, a near splitting image of her (dark-haired - an oddity to the usual white-gold - and fair-skinned, eyes shining an enchanting cornflower blue). It was to the point that once or twice, he’d wondered if Veela simply reproduced asexually during autonomy lessons at Beauxbatons. 

“We fuck properly. Like everyone else,” dear cousin Fleur said, and it was the first time Jaskier had ever heard her swear. Jaskier stayed too dumbfounded to bombard Fleur with any more questions, obnoxiously, just because he could. Then on the second time - “Prove it,” he said, because Jaskier was more than prepared this time, but clearly not enough because Fleur had promptly dragged him to her home’s Pensieve and took a vial of memories with Veela pornography in it. 

Jaskier had never been shocked so speechless. 

By the time he was thirteen moons, Jaskier had declared himself free from even a flask of blood from his father. It was a joke, really, as his mother was prone to spend weeks in bed, resting blankly as though she’d no purpose in life. Only mentions of his father seemed to stir her attention during those days and Jaskier would try relentlessly to add his mysterious, deceased father into their one-sided conversations however he could without coming off too insensitive.

 _No purpose,_ huh. Jaskier had pushed the door to his mother’s room open, the first syllables of his joke on his tongue. Warm rays of sunlight flushed through the large windows. 

She had Jaskier. Why wasn’t he enough? The half-Veela brushed off the thought, gliding over to her bed and plopping himself over her lap covered by a silk blanket. “Be honest, dearest mother. You’d cloned me yourself, haven’t you? My everything comes from you. My pretty face, my pretty voice. Are you listening? I’m only so beautiful because my mother is so. I even have your love for music - the great Veela, Lady Pankratz! Whose voice can even enchant the fairest of unicorns!” 

He was years too old to act like a just born hatchling, but his mother had smiled, weak and _wanting,_ and told him otherwise in fond defense of his father. 

“Your love for music belongs to him.” 

“Is that love not from you?” Jaskier asked, playfully plucking the strings of his mother’s lute where he’d snatched it from her bedside and played with nary a proper tune. Everybody knew how the Veela valued their songs. “No,” she said, and paused for a moment to untangle a knot in one of Jaskier’s feathers where his wings flared for balance behind him. 

“I loved people more than I did music. And then you were given to me as fast as your father was taken away from me. You carry as much as me as you do your father, dear Dandelion. Don’t be ashamed of your human blood outside our family.”

Jaskier was rather astounded to hear her speak of his father fondly, for the man had often been a sore subject. Most of the sisterhood tip-toed around his heritage as if to let a sleeping Cerberus lie too, so Jaskier was eager to grab an opportunity to hear more of the man his mother defied Grandmother to be with. 

She spoke of his charming words, his handsome face. He was one of the rare humans to be immune to a Veela’s charm. She liked that about him. That and how he was also genuine and kind. Months into their courting, she’d broken his deceased brother’s Firebolt by accident and Jaskier’s father had not raised his voice; his first concern was if his mother had injured herself - she, who was as tough as nails from the Magic woven in her blood and bones.

Her voice was full of love, full of ache.

Jaskier wanted to find a love like hers. He said so and his mother shook her head, showing her disapproval. “I pray you don’t. The loss of their passing,” she sighed, “Worse still, _rejection_ , will hurt more than one should bear in a lifetime. I hope you’ll never fall for the temptations of temporary bliss.”

Jaskier didn’t say anything in return, busy flailing when his mother pulled his nose and gave a soft laugh. Her slender fingers moved to his cheeks next, manicured nails grazing over tender skin so carefully it tickled. In a corner of his mind, Jaskier filed her advice away in favour of living in the happiness that made his eyes light up at seeing, hearing, _feeling_ his mother’s rare expression of joy.

When he left her room, feathers preened and cheeks rosy from fond, teasing pinches, Jaskier was quick to approach his favourite cousin Fleur. She was a good listener as Jaskier was a good talker. He’d not visited her for months already, young Gabrielle having occupied most of her sister’s time jealously. 

In the beautiful flourish of his human uncle’s garden, Jaskier’s hands were out of control with excitement. Flinging about, waving excitedly as he built an embellished story from his day from top to bottom. Fleur listened attentively with Gabrielle’s snores sinking into her stomach as she slept. Jaskier’s mother was last on the agenda, “I’d sell my heart to find a mate like mother’s. Such would make a captivating song; don’t you think?”

Fleur carded her fingers in her precious little sister’s hair. Jaskier crooned at the sight; Fleur was an untouchable and sublime creature in Beauxbatons - cold-faced and graceful, beautiful, but Jaskier had only known her to be the girl who braided dandelion flowers into his wings. Who cried when her sister was born because she was terribly excited to be an elder sister. The quarter-Veela said, rather bluntly, “You’re thirteen, Jask," and Jaskier just knew it was the motherly instinct in her talking. 

Years of practice that had come from guiding her sister the best she can, always so afraid of setting a bad example. Jaskier was less worried about the little things such as setting whatever a role model was. 

Jaskier was a free spirit, his mother’s son. 

“We’re both thirteen!” he cried indignantly, then in a hushed and smiling whisper, “I’ve been having dreams, Fleur. Of maidens and men. It’d be a good time to start searching for my love, no? Aunt Isabelle found her mate when she was our age.”

“Aunt Isabelle had children a year after,” Fleur deadpanned. “Their time differs from ours. I find it rather morbid, too, that you take your mother’s pain so lightly.”

Jaskier’s expression sunk a little, feathers drooping in tandem. “That’s not true.”

“Really.”

“Really!” Jaskier nodded strongly. “I - I simply can’t help myself. Everyone is simply too lovely to resist; won’t you agree? _Oh,_ how my heart beats for a thousand different smiles, a thousand different notes of laughter, ringing in the dining hall as I sing my songs during supper - the Nymphs can complain all they like, but I know they adore me as much as I do them. It’s like I fall in love with everyone a little. I want to make most of my feelings, Fleur. It’s because my mother is the way she is that I don’t wish to be like her.”

A sympathetic look flashed across Fleur’s face and Jaskier pretended to have missed it. His cousin hummed, a tune crystal clear against the fickle wind that whistled past where they sat. “I won’t be against you,” She finally said, slowly, cautiously. “But Madame Maxime will have your hide if she finds you in any of the girls’ rooms at night or Melitele forbid, come morning. No _flying_ with anyone until you - and me, I suppose - are sixteen at least. I mean it, Jask.”

“I’ll stay clear, promise!” Jaskier beamed, feathers bristling with delight. 

Fleur’s gaze flickered to her sister’s napping figure before rising to meet Jaskier. Veela senses were naturally sharper than most, and Fleur didn’t bother to be subtle, so Jaskier could easily hear her sharp intake of breath. “Be careful, Jask. Not all heartbreaks will be the same.”

Jaskier grinned, standing on his feet to move behind Fleur. He undid the leather strap tied casually in her hair and proceeded to tie a loose fishtail braid with the ease of having done so a thousand times before. Fleur allowed her posture to relax slightly, singing along to Jaskier's song as their voices carried in the wind. 


	2. II.

Ice blue eyes sparkling, Fleur’s pleased expression had not left her since a week ago. She’d told him that her apprenticeship was accepted after its admittance alongside her sixth year examination results. Jaskier’s own cornflower blues had curved in delight for her, fingers tracing the envelope of his results he’d yet to open.

In contrast, Jaskier had not registered for any conditional apprenticeships before the sixth year examinations had officially taken place. He wasn’t sure what he wanted from the future, the weight of his uncertainty and obscurity of the future felt heavier than he let on around his relatives and friends.

He still loved music until this day, and wished to pursue a career in it, but if it wasn’t possible, Jaskier’s academic achievements would accept him nearly anywhere he wished to work in magical France.

“It’s alright if you’ve not signed up for anything. Graduation is an academic year away,” Fleur said. That was three days ago, when Jaskier had finally mustered the courage to open his envelope. Her tone was as sympathetically gentle as ever, and Jaskier gave her a smile half sincere, half discomfited; it wasn’t like him to hesitate in the first place, more so to lose sleep as soon as their seventh year opened.

Night unknown of being tucked warm in bed: Jaskier’s ponderings played his simmering anxiety like a performance embellished with seemingly obnoxious dramatics. Yet his dramatics were truthful ones, because it wasn’t really an exaggeration to say that the start of seventh year heralded the reminder of its end, set and due, crawling closer by the day.

Once upon a time, Jaskier thought of travelling the world alongside a life-long companion he cherished like his wings. Just the two of them, seeing all the sights to be seen, hearing all the music to be heard. From Europe to Asia, to Australia, Africa and then the rest of the continents. Jaskier was lightning in a bottle, ready to break free from the roost without looking back. with a companion beside him, Jaskier believed he’d want for nothing.

The coven hadn’t approved exactly, for painfully reasonable reasons Jaskier refused to think about at the moment; additionally, his mother had fallen into slumber for the past several months. To say Jaskier was stressed _and_ worried sick for the first time in years was appropriate.

Him, _worried_ sick, Valdo Marx must have had the most splendid week in his life without knowing why.

Day eight: the half-Veela purposely-accidentally bumped elbows with his cousin, hoping some of her happiness to transfer over to him. It wasn’t working, and so he thus spent a minute contemplating whether to hug her before he decided to distract himself with the scenery instead.

Without a doubt, Jaskier’s budding ache at the back of his head was eased ever so slightly. Mornings in Beauxbatons Academy possessed a healing beauty unique to France only. Along it airy halls, wide and marbled, Jaskier could spend hours roaming Beauxbatons’s gorgeous hallways basked in peeking sunlight, attention entranced by the glittering ice sculptures positioned in the surrounding spacious gardens. 

Though Fleur walked beside him, and Jaskier’s usual habit was to draw her conversation, he said nothing, allowing a comfortable quiet to settle between them.

It would’ve piqued suspicion on Fleur’s radar if moments like these where the air was crisp and cold, peaceful, save for the sounds their shoes made as they clicked away on the tiled floor, Jaskier felt as though he had to preserve the sacredness of the silence somewhat.

This wasn’t his first purposeful silence, nor his last, and Jaskier milked it for all it was worth.

The morning routine gave him a reasonable excuse to hold his tongue, composing himself for the day before he accidentally blurted his concerns to Fleur who didn’t need a downer to rain on her pleasant week. She deserved every happy quirk on her lips for as long as possible; Fleur had worked her feathers off to get that apprenticeship.

Once they passed the courtyard fountain, Jaskier perked up hearing the joyful songs of the wood nymphs coming from the Dining Chamber. He absently adjusted the brooch of his baby-blue cape, humming to join the tune from inside.

As soon as Fleur and Jaskier had found a table, plates full before them, Madame Maxime was already standing on the elevated stage at the front.

Her large stature and commanding air attracted turned many heads, bleary-eyed students forcing themselves to blink their sleepiness away. Madame Maxime scanned the crowd with an intensity that forced anyone under her gaze to straighten. Jaskier wasn’t an exception, and he cracked a cheeky grin seeing her eyes linger on him longer than the rest.

 _Not to worry,_ his face was fixed to say. Jaskier had completed his detention perfectly well. The stables were cleaned out thoroughly and the magical equines brushed and fed and watered. It didn’t mean he’d stop making trouble – for Jaskier’s tendency to flit about bedrooms and staying overnight without permission was a reoccurring annoyance since sixth year – but he’d done as told with minimal complaints.

At this point, the horses probably recognised him by his footfalls. He was, after all, the sole distributor of half their fresh oats, sugar cubes, apple slices, and malt whiskeys for the non-breed-specific herd exclusive to their school.

Frown the headmistress may at his name, Jaskier just _knew_ Madame Maxime secretly found him endearing. He was simultaneously one of Beauxbatons’s most talented students! and also one of their most troublesome. He’d like to think the scales balanced out though, give him a special sort of charm in the contrast. People liked Jaskier, else he wouldn’t have bedded a fourth of his year.

Fleur disagreed, what with the prefects having built quite the grudge from taking on overtime patrols because of him.

Madame Maxime’s husky voice spread throughout the chambers, sounding weighted and stern. “May I have your attention please,” she said. Immediately, the resident wood nymphs quieted, stiller than the trees they were born from. Glancing at the school’s newspaper idle in Fleur’s hand, Jaskier skimmed over the page she was on.

Oh, this was going to be _something._

Opposite him, a half-elf year mate seemed to share a similar idea. She let out a small gasp, body jerking to twist her full attention towards Madame Maxime more than she already was. Jaskier couldn’t believe it; the Triwizard Tournament hadn’t been held for over hundreds of years.

As if to break the disbelief, Madame Maxime’s announcement hung heavy in the air. “Beauxbatons has been selected to participate in the Triwizard Tournament. It will be hosted in Hogwarts -” The headmistress’s expression was strong and stoic in the beginning, but at _Hogwarts_ , her jaw ticked with unnamed emotion. 

In a show of rare restraint, Jaskier refrained from throwing a flying question. A good portion of his detentions weren’t gained on purpose, to say the least.

“Only seventh years will be allowed to partake in the tournament,” she continued easily, like a whole mystery novel worth of memories hadn’t just flashed past her eyes. Jaskier shifted in his seat. “Naturally, I expect the students who wish to do so have the qualifications to have a chance at being selected by the cup.”

Soft murmurs filled the hall, hushed but obvious in its excitement. In particular, Jaskier could feel his cousin just _vibrating_ in her skin with anticipation. _Triwizard Champion_ would look good on any resume, he supposed. Simply the title of participant should work wonders actually.

“Seventh years, your dorm mothers and fathers will be briefing you on the available details in regards to the tournament and the duration of it.”

Fleur nudged a light elbow into Jaskier’s rib. Her hopeful smile was sure-fire to anything she wanted from him. They exchanged a wordless conversation over a span of minutes: yes, he’ll follow her to Hogwarts. Jaskier had never denied his nature as a social butterfly, anyway. Then again, he’d still go even if he wasn’t. Fleur knew it, Jaskier knew it. There was no point playing coy.

“Anything else, such as questions concerning your studies during your absence, I have determined your professors responsible for their handling of the matter. Do not shy from asking what they want or what you may need to know. The Triwizard Tournament is no good reason to neglect ensuring the success of your future.”

-

The headmistress’s office was a fourth home by now. The first was indisputably Fleur’s manor’s gardens, the second: Beauxbatons’s music room, the third was Beauxbatons’s (again) stables, and finally Madame Maxime’s elegantly decorated office. 

Jaskier was a regular visitor here for reasons he simply couldn’t fathom. That was a lie; he knew exactly why he was here more often than most. He’d consider the headmistress a friend if he was a braver person. Rocking back and forth on his feet nervously underneath Madame Maxime’s weighted gaze, Jaskier had long come to terms with the fact he wasn’t.

She didn’t know it, but the headmistress had more influence on Jaskier than she knew. He admired her, respected her, loved her like he would the mother he saw more asleep and mourning than awake and happy.

Madame Maxime’s shoulders dropped suddenly, a long sigh escaping her. Feeling brave, Jaskier lifted his head from which he’d stubbornly kept it down to avoid eye contact earlier. He watched her pinch the bridge of her nose, chestnut hair framing her tired face.

“Your qualifications aren’t an issue and I cannot forbid you to go to Hogwarts,” stated the woman finally, after dragging out the silence to moderate levels of suspense.

It didn’t sound like she was talking to Jaskier, though, and he cocked his head in confusion. “Of course,” he said, to be safe. To tell her he was listening even though puzzlement bled into his voice. From her chair, head resting on her laced fingers, Madame Maxime looked straight at him, “I can, however, forbid you from promiscuous activities with students from other schools.”

The direction of the conversation had the half-Veela’s jaw dropping, and not in surprise. Sputtering, his voice raised by an octave, “M-Madame-!”

“Don’t Madame me,” the headmistress huffed, exasperated. “If I hear any news of a scandal because you couldn’t keep it in your pants, _Julian,_ ” the warning cut sharply in her smile, “you’ll be on stable duty for the rest of the year. And I don’t mean in Beauxbatons only. I’ll force you with the horses even in Scotland.”

“But,” Jaskier said, indignant.

“Leave the buts. I don’t mind you finding love, Jaskier,” she started, uncharacteristically mild, “but please, keep your distance. I don’t want any little _accidents_ or complaints on our doorstep.”

His face must be doing something, because Madame Maxime’s expression softened, “Magical England is less kind to those of mixed blood. Their laws are considered backwards to some; stuck in the past, chained to old traditions,” her fingers made a wave like motion in the air, “You know about their hand-raised dark lord; vanquished or not, we must be careful on foreign land either way.”

Jaskier nodded absently, realization dawning. “I understand,” he said, “I’ll try to keep from trouble, dearest Madame. Leave it to Beauxbatons’s most talented student.”

Madame Maxime sighed again, the escaping fondness diminishing the dismissive effect. She waved him off, “Back to class with you, and tell Miss Delacour to come by my office. Go, Jaskier, before I find myself sending you to the stables on instinct.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly don't know why, but writing the Witcher is level 10 difficulty. I'm just - not good at characterizing Jaskier maybe? Like, this took me ages to complete. i rewrote this four times at least before coming with something I didn't feel like thrashing immediately. The ideas are there, but I couldn't put it down into words for some reason. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you've enjoyed this chapter. Leave a Kudos and comment if you did. I love hearing what you think. 
> 
> (Stay safe and strong, everyone.)

**Author's Note:**

> Never thought I'd be writing a fic out of spite. 
> 
> And yet, here we are. This was initially a Tumblr idea, but my tags wouldn't come out right on the search so I deleted the point form format and made an actual fic instead. All things considered though, it was pretty fun. 
> 
> The fic title and song lyrics are from Hozier's [To noise making (sing)](https://youtu.be/_gehtvsMww0). It's seriously such a Geraskier song, and I highly encourage you to listen to it at least once.


End file.
